Metro Girl
by Nayme Shoumetsu
Summary: Enraged in a deadly race, Toushirou's "borrowed" Ichigo's sixty-five-foot Hatteras and sailed off into the sunset. Ichigo figures he'll attach himself to Toushirou's big sister, Orihime and maybe run into him. And maybe Ichigo'll get lucky in love w/ her.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Aha, Another story about Ichigo and Orihime. I know I should be working on 'The Trail of the Hunted' but while I was eating Oreos, I have this wonderful idea for a story about Ichihime and I just have to let it out! Will be updating this everyday.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p><strong>.<strong>

**.**

**.**

Metro Girl

.

One

**.**

**.**

**.**

_ Told in Orihime's POV_

* * *

><p>Just because I know how to change a guy's oil doesn't mean I want to spend the rest of my life on my back, staring up his undercarriage. Been there, done that. Okay, so my dad owns a garage. And okay, I have a natural aptitude for rebuilding carburetors. There comes a time in a girl's life when she needs to trade in her mechanic's overalls for a pair of Manolo Blahnik stilettos. Not that I can afford a lot of Manolos, but it's a goal, right?<p>

My name is Orihime Inoue, and I worked in my dad's garage in the Canton section of Baltimore all through high school and during summer breaks when I was in college. It's not a big fancy garage, but it holds its own, and my dad has a reputation for being an honest mechanic.

When I was twelve my dad taught me how to use an acetylene torch. After I mastered welding, he gave me some spare parts and our old lawn mower, and I built myself a go-cart. When I was sixteen, I started rebuilding a ten-year-old junker Chevy. I turned it into a fast car. And I raced it in the local stocks for two years.

"And here she comes, folks," the announcer would say. "Orihime Inoue. Number sixteen, the terror of Baltimore County. She's coming up on the eight car. She's going to the inside. Wait a minute, I see flames coming from sixteen. There's a lot of smoke now. Looks like she's blown another engine. Good thing she works in her dad's garage."

So I could build cars, and I could drive cars. I just never got the hang of driving them without destroying them.

"Hime," my dad would say. "I swear you blow those engines just so you can rebuild them."

Maybe on an _un_conscious level. The brain is a pretty weird thing. What I knew was that on a _conscious _level, I hated losing. And I lost more races than I won. So, I raced two seasons and packed it in.

My younger brother, Inoue Toushirou, drove, too. He never cared if he won or lost. He just liked to drive fast and scratch his balls with the rest of the guys. Toushirou was voted Most Popular of his senior class and also Least Likely to Succeed.

The class's expectations for Toushirou's success was a reflection of Toushirou's philosophy of life. _If work was any fun, it would be called play. _I've always been the serious kid, and Toushirou's always been the kid who knew how to have a good time. Two years ago, Toushirou said _good-bye _Baltimore and _hello _Miami. He liked the lazy hot sun, the open water, and the girls in bikinis.

Two days ago, Toushirou disappeared off the face of the earth. And he did it while I was talking to him. He woke me up with a phone call in the middle of the night.

"Orihime," Toushirou yelled over the phone line. "I have to leave Miami for a while. Tell Dad I'm okay."

I squinted at my bedside clock. _Two AM. _Not late for Toushirou who spent a lot of time in South Beach Bars. Real late for me who worked nine to five and went to bed at ten.

"What's that noise?" I asked him. "I can hardly hear you."

"Boat engine. Listen, I don't want you to worry if you don't hear from me. And if some guys show up looking for me, don't tell them anything. Unless it's Kurosaki Ichigo. Tell Kurosaki Ichigo he can kiss my exhaust pipe."

"Guys? What guys? And what do you mean, don't tell them anything?"

"I have to go. I have to... _oh shit." _

I heard a woman scream in the background, and the line went dead.

**.**

**.**

**.**

* * *

><p>Baltimore is cold in January. The wind whips in from the harbor and slices up the side streets, citywide. We get a couple snowstorms each year and some freezing rain, but mostly we get bone-chilling gray gloom. In the midst of the gray gloom, pots of chili bubble on stoves, beer flows like water, sausages are stuffed into hard rolls, and doughnuts are a necessity to survival.<p>

Miami, it turns out, is _hot _in January. I'd taken the midday flight out of BWI, arriving in Miami mid-afternoon. When I left home I was wrapped in a quilted down-filled coat, cashmere Burberry scarf, fleece-lined boots, and heavy-duty shearling mittens. Perfect for Baltimore. Not great for Miami. On arrival, I'd crammed the scarf and mittens into the medium-size duffel bag that hung from my shoulder, wrapped in my coat around the duffel bag handle, and went in search of the taxi stand. Sweat was soaking into my Victoria's Secret Miracle Bra, my hair was plastered to my forehead, and I was sucking in air that felt like hot soup.

I'm 23 years old now. Average height and average build. I'm not movie-star gorgeous, but I'm okay. My hair is auburn. It's currently platinum and cut in a medium-length shaggy kind of style that I can punk up with paste if the occasion arises. I have gray eyes, a mouth that is pinkish, and a perfect nose.

My parents took Toushirou and me to Disney World when I was nine. That's the extent of my in-the-flesh Florida experience. The rest of my Florida knowledge consists mainly of horrific bug stories from my mom's friend Nanao Ise. Nanao winters in Ocala with her daughter. Nanao swears there are cockroaches as big as cows in Florida. And she says they can fly. I'm here to tell you, if I see a cow-size cockroach fly by, I'm gone.

I gave Toushirou's address to the cabdriver, and I sat back and watched Miami roll past the window. In the beginning there was a lot of concrete road stretching forward into a confusing jumble of intersections and turnoffs. The turnoffs spiraled away to super highways. And the super highways flattened and went on forever. After a few minutes the Miami skyline appeared in the distance, in front of me, and I had the feeling I was on the road to Oz. Palm trees lined the road. The sky was azure. Cars were clean. Exotic stuff for a girl from Baltimore.

We rolled across the Causeway Bridge, leaving Miami behind, moving into Miami Beach. My stomach felt hollow, and I had a white-knuckle grip on my bag. I was worried about Toushirou, and my anxiety was increasing as we drew closer to his apartment. _Hey, _I told myself. Relax. Pry your fingers off the bag. Toushirou's okay. He's always okay. Like a cat. Lands on his feet. True, he wasn't answering his phone. And he hadn't reported in for work. No reason to panic. This was Inoue Toushirou. He didn't always prioritize in the normal fashion.

This was the guy who missed his high school graduation because en route to the ceremony he found an injured cat on the side of the road. He took the cat to the vet and wouldn't leave until the cat was out of surgery and awake. Of course, he could probably still have made the ceremony if only he hadn't felt the need to seduce the vet's assistant in examining room number three.

The troublesome part about my late-night phone call from Toushirou was the woman screaming. This was a new twist on Toushirou's usual call. My mother would freak out if she knew about the call, so I'd said nothing and boarded a plane.

My plan was to somehow get into Toushirou's apartment and make sure he wasn't lying on the floor dead. If he wasn't dead on the floor and he wasn't hanging out watching television, my next stop would be the marina. He was on a boat when he called me. I thought I might have to find the boat. Beyond that, I was clueless.

The Causeway Bridge fed into Fifth Avenue in South Beach. Fifth was three lanes in each direction with a grassy island in the middle. Businesses lined both sides of the road. The driver turned right at Meridian Avenue, went one block, and pulled to the curb.

I was in a neighborhood of single-family bungalows and blocky two-story stucco apartment buildings. The lots were small. The vegetation was jungle. Cars were parked bumper to bumper on both sides of the two-lane street. Toushirou's apartment building was yellow with turquoise and pink trim and looked a lot like a cheap motel. There were wrought iron security bars on the windows. In fact, most of the buildings on the street had barred windows. In Baltimore, bars on windows would be found in conjunction with gang graffiti, street garbage, burned-out crack houses, and broken-down cars. None of those things were present in this neighborhood. This neighborhood looked modest but neatly maintained.

I paid the driver and trudged up the walkway that led to the apartment entrance. Moss grew between paving stones, overgrown flowering bushes and vines spilled onto the sidewalk and raced up the yellow stucco building, and the air smelled sweet and chemical. _Bug spray, _I thought. I was probably a step behind the exterminator. Best to keep my eye out for the cow-size cockroach. Lizards skittered across the walk in front of me and clung to the stucco walls. I didn't want to prejudge Miami Beach, but the lizards weren't doing a lot for me.

The building was divided into six apartments. Three up and three down. Six front doors on the ground level. Toushirou lived in an end apartment on the second floor. I didn't have a key. If he didn't answer his doorbell, I'd try the neighbors.

I rang the bell and looked at the door. There were fresh gouges in the wood around the lock and the dead bolt. I tried the doorknob and the door swung open. _Damn. _I'm not an expert on criminal behavior, but I didn't think this was a good sign.

I pushed the door farther open and looked inside. Small entrance foyers with stairs leading up to the rest of the apartment. No sounds drifting down to me. No television, talking, scuffling around.

"Hello?" I called. "I'm coming up, and I have a gun." This was a big fat lie shouted out for a good cause. I figured in case there were bad guys going through the silverware drawer this would encourage them to jump out the window.

I waited a couple beats and then I cautiously crept up the stairs. I've never thought of myself as being especially brave. Aside from my short career at racing stocks, I don't do a lot of wacky, risky things. I don't like scary movies or roller coasters. I never wanted to be a cop, firefighter, or superhero. Mostly my life has been putting one foot in front of the other, moving forward on autopilot. My family thought it took guts for me to go to college, but the truth is, college was just a way to get out of the garage. I love my dad, but I was up to here with cars and guys who knew nothing else. Call me picky, but I didn't want a romantic relationship where I was second in line to a customized truck.

I got to the top of the stairs and froze. The stairs opened to the living room, and beyond the living room I could see into the small kitchen. Both rooms were a wreck. Couch cushions had been thrown onto the floor. Books were pulled off shelves. Drawers had been wrenched out of cabinets, and the drawers contents shattered. Someone had trashed the apartment, and it wasn't Toushirou. I'd seen Toushirou's style of mess. It ran more to dirty clothes on the floor, food stuck to the couch, and a lot of empty beer cans, everywhere. That's not what I was seeing here.

I whirled around and flew down the stairs. I was out the door, on the sidewalk in seconds. I stood facing the building, staring up at Toushirou's apartment, gulping air. This was something that happened in movies. This didn't happened in real life. At least it didn't happen in _my _real life.

I stood there trying to pull myself together, listening to the steady drone of traffic a block away from Fifth. There was no visible activity in the apartment building in front of me. No doomsday cloud hanging overhead. An occasional car cruised by, but for the most part, the street was quiet. I had my hand to my heart, and I could feel that my heartbeat was improving. Probably it had even dropped below stroke level.

All right, let's get a grip on what happened here. Someone tossed Toushirou's apartment. Fortunately, they seemed to be gone. _Unfortunately, _Toushirou seemed to be gone, too. Probably I should go back and take another look.

The voice of reason started yelling at me inside my head. _What are you, nuts? Call the police. A crime was committed here. Stay far away._

Then the voice of the responsible older sister spoke up. _Don't be so cowardly. At least do a walk-through. Toushirou's not always so smart. Remember the time he "borrowed" Kurotsuchi Nemu's classic GTO from the garage so he could take his buddies on a joyride and ended up in jail? And what about the time he "borrowed" a keg from Ishida Uryu's bar for his Super Bowl party. Maybe you don't want to get the police involved right away. Maybe you want to try to figure out what's going on first._

_Good grief, _the voice of reason said.

_Shut up, or I'll bitch slap you into tomorrow, _the sister voice said to the voice of reason.

Bottom line is, the sister voice grew up in a garage in Baltimore.

I blew out a sigh, hoisted my duffel bag higher on my shoulder, and marched back into the apartment building and up the stairs. I set my bag on the floor, and I studied the room. Someone had been looking for something, I decided. They'd either been in a hurry or they'd been angry. You could conduct a search without making a mess like this.

It wasn't a big apartment. Combination living room and dining room, kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. The door to the medicine chest was open in the bathroom but not much else was touched. Not much you can do when tossing a bathroom, eh? The top to the toilet tank was on the floor. No stone unturned.

I crept into the bedroom and looked around. Clothes were strewn everywhere. The drawer from the small chest beside the bed was on the floor, and _condoms, _still in their wrappers, were scattered across the carpet. _Lots _of condoms. Like the entire drawer had been filled with condoms. Yep, this was Toushirou's apartment, I thought. Although the number of condoms seemed optimistic, even for Toushirou.

The television and DVD player were untouched. Scratch drug-induced burglary off the list of possibilities.

I went back to the kitchen and poked around, but I didn't find anything of interest. No address book. No notes detailing criminal activity. No maps with an orange trip line. I was feeling more comfortable in the apartment. I'd been there for fifteen minutes and nothing bad had happened. No one had rushed up the stairs wielding a gun or a knife. I hadn't discovered any bloodstains. Probably the apartment was really safe, I told myself. It's already been searched, right? There's no reason for the bad guys to come back.

The marina was next up. Toushirou worked on a corporate boat owned by Calflex. The boat's name was _Flex II, _and it sailed out of Miami Beach Marina. I'd gotten a map and a guidebook at the airport. According to the map, I could walk to the marina. I'd be a puddle of sweat if I walked in my present clothes, so I changed into a short pink cotton skirt, white tank top, and white canvas tennis shoes. Okay, so I'm auburn and I like pink. Get over it.

I'd looked for a second set of keys while picking through the mess on Toushirou's kitchen floor. I wanted to leave my duffel bag in the apartment when I went to the marina. I hoped the front door could still be locked. And if I could get it to lock I'd need a key to get back in.

Normally, people keep extra keys on hooks in the kitchen or by the door. Or they were kept in kitchen or bedroom drawers with a collection of odds-and-ends junk. Or, if you were frequently hung over and tended to lock yourself out in your underwear when you stepped off the stoop to retrieve your morning paper, you might hide the keys outside.

I slipped my purse over my shoulder and went downstairs, carefully leaving the door open behind me. At home we kept our emergency keys in fake dog poop. My father thinks fake dog poop is hilarious. Tells everyone. Half of Baltimore knows to look for fake dog poop if they want to burgle our house.

I snooped under an overgrown bush to the right of the front stoop and _bingo. _Fake dog poop. I removed the keys from inside the pile of poop. A house key and a car key. I tried the house key, and it fit Toushirou's front door. I locked up and followed the path to the sidewalk. I pressed the panic button on the remote gizmo attached to the car key, hoping to find Toushirou's car among the cars park there. Nothing happened. None of the parked cars responded. I had no idea what Toushirou drove. No logo on the key. I aimed the remote towards the other end of the street and didn't get a hit there either.

I set off on foot and found the marina four blocks later. It was hidden behind a strip of condos and commercial real estate, barely visible from the road. I crossed a parking lot, aiming the remote around the lot as I walked. None of the cars beeped or flashed their lights. I crossed a small median of grass and flowers and stepped onto a wide concrete sidewalk that ran the length of the marina. Palm trees lined both sides of the walkway. Very neat. Very pretty. Wood docks with slips poked into the channel. There were maybe ten docks in all, and most of the slips on those docks were filled. Powerboats at one end. Sailboats at the other end.

The huge cranes that serviced container ships off-loading at the Port of Miami were visible directly across the channel. Because I'd studied the map, I knew Fisher Island sat offshore, at the mouth of the harbor. From where I stood I could see the clusters of white stucco high-rise condos on Fisher. The orange Spanish tile roofs sparkled in the sunlight, the ground floors were obscured by palms and assorted Florida greenery.

There were white metal gates at the entrance to each of the marina docks. The signs of the gates read, _NO ROLLER-BLADING, SKATEBOARDING, BICYCLE RIDING, FISHING, OR SWIMMING. OWNERS AND GUESTS ONLY._

A small round two-story structure perched at the end of one of the docks. The building had good visibility from the second floor, with green awnings shading large windows. The sign of the gate for that dock told me this was Pier E, the dock master's office. The gate was closed, and yellow crime scene tape cordoned off an area around the dock master's building. A couple cops stood flat-footed at the end of the dock. A crime scene police van was parked on the concrete sidewalk in front of the white metal gate.

Ordinarily this sort of thing would generate morbid curiosity in me. Today, the crime scene tape at the dock master's office made me uneasy. I was looking for my missing brother, last heard from on board a boat.

I watched a guy leave the dock master's office and walk towards the gate. He was mid-thirties, dressed in khakis and a blue button-down shirt with sleeves rolled. He was carrying something that looked like a toolbox, and I guessed he belonged to the crime scene van. He pushed through the closed gate and our eyes made contact. Then his eyes dropped to my chest and my short pink skirt.

Thanks to my Miracle Bra there was an inch of cleavage peeking out from the scoop neck of my tank top, encouraging the plainclothes cop guy to stop and chat.

"What's going on out there?" I asked him.

"Homicide," he said. "Happened Monday night. Actually around _Three AM _on Tuesday. I'm surprised you didn't see it in the paper. It was splashed all over the front page this morning."

"I never read the paper. It's too depressing. War, famine, homicides."

He looked like he was trying hard not to grimace.

"Who was killed?" I asked.

"A security guard working the night shift."

Thank God, not Toushirou. "I'm looking for the Calflex boat," I said. "I don't suppose you'd know where it is?"

His gaze shifted to the water and focused one dock down. "Everyone knows the Calflex boat," he said. "It's the one at the end of the pier with the helicopter on deck."

_That _was the boat Toushirou was working? It was the largest boat at the marina. It was gleaming white and had two full decks above water. The top deck held a little blue-and-white helicopter.

I thanked the cop guy and headed for _Flex II. _I ignored the gate and the sign that said owners and guests, and I walked out onto the wood-planked pier. A guy was standing two slips down from _Flex II, _hands on hips, looking royally pissed off, staring into an empty ship. He was wearing khaki shorts and a ratty, faded blue T-shirt. He had a nice body. Muscular without being chunky. My age. His hair was sun-bleached orange and a month overdue for a cut. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses. He turned when I approached and lowered his glasses to better see me.

I grew up in a garage in the company of men obsessed with cars. I raced stocks for two years. And I regularly sat through family dinners where the entire conversation consisted of NASCAR statistics. So, I recognized Mr. Sun-bleached Orange. He was Kurosaki Ichigo. The guy Toushirou had said could kiss his exhaust pipe. Kurosaki Ichigo drove NASCAR. He'd won twice at Daytona. And I guess he'd won a bunch of other races, too, but I didn't pay close attention to NASCAR anymore. Mostly what I knew about Kurosaki Ichigo I knew from the dinner table conversation. He was a good ol' boy from Texas. A man's man. A ladies' man. A damn good driver. And a jerk. In other words, according to my family, Kurosaki Ichigo was typical NASCAR. And my family loved him. Except for Toushirou, apparently.

I wasn't surprised to find that Toushirou knew Kurosaki Ichigo. Toushirou was the kind of guy who eventually knew _everybody. _I was surprised to find that they weren't getting along. Inoue Toushirou and Kurosaki Ichigo were cut from the same cloth.

The closer I got to _Flex II, _the more impressive it became. It dominated the pier. There were two other boats that came close to the _Flex _in size, but none could match it for beauty of line. And _Flex II _was the only one with a helicopter. Next time I had a billion dollars to throw away I was going to get a boat like _Flex. _And of course it would have a helicopter. I wouldn't ride in the helicopter. The very thought scared the bejesus out of me. Still, I'd have it because it looked so darned good sitting there on the top deck.

There was a small battery-operated truck at the end of the pier, and people were carting produce and boxes of food off the truck and onto the boat. Most of the navy blue and white-uniformed crew was young. An older man, also in navy blue and white, stood to the side, watching the worker bees.

I approached the older man and introduced myself. I'm not sure why, but I decided right off that I'd fib a little.

"I'm looking for my brother, Inoue Toushirou," I said. "I believe he works on this boat."

"He did," the man said. "But he called in a couple days ago and quit."

I did my best at looking shocked. "I didn't know," I said. "I just flew in from Baltimore. I was going to surprise him. I went to his apartment, but he wasn't there, so I thought I'd catch him working."

"I'm the ship's purser, Kyoraku Shunsui. I took the call. Toushirou didn't say much. Just that he had to leave on short notice."

"Was he having problems?"

"Not on board. We're sorry to lose him. I don't know about his personal life."

I turned my attention to the boat. "It looks like you're getting ready to leave."

"We don't have any immediate plans, but we try to stay prepared to go when the call comes in."

I thought it might be helpful to talk to the crew, but I couldn't do it with Shunsui standing watch. I turned away from the boat and bumped into Kurosaki Ichigo.

Kurosaki-_kun _was just under six foot. Not a huge guy, but big for NASCAR and built solid. I slammed into him and bounced back a couple inches.

"For goodness sake," I said, on an intake of breath. "Shit."

"Cute little auburn's wearing pink skirts aren't allowed to take the Lord's name in vain," Kurosaki-kun said, wrapping his hand around my arm, encouraging me to walk with him. "Not that it matters, you're going to hell for lying to Shunsui."

"How do you know I was lying to Shunsui?"

"I was listening. You're a real crappy liar." He stopped at the empty slip. "Guess what goes here?"

"A boat?"

"My boat. My sixty-five-foot Hatteras Convertible."

"And?"

"And it's gone. Do you see a boat here? No. Do you know who took it? Do you know where it is?"

The guy was deranged. One too many crashes. NASCAR drivers weren't known for being all that smart to begin with. Rattle their brains around a couple times and probably there's not much left.

I made a show of looking at my watch. "Gee, look at the time. I have to go. I have an appointment."

"Your brother took my goddamn boat," Kurosaki-kun said. "And I want it back. I have exactly two weeks off before I have to start getting ready for the season, and I want to spend it on my boat. Two weeks. Is that too much to ask? _Two friggin' _weeks."

"What makes you think my brother took your boat?"

"He told me!" Kurosaki-kun's face was flushing under his tan. He had his glasses off, and his eyes narrowed. "And I'm guessing he told you, too. You two are probably in this together, going around ripping off boats, selling them on the black market."

"You're a nutcase."

"Maybe selling them on the black market was pushing it."

"And you have anger management issues."

"People keep saying that to me. I think I'm a pretty reasonable guy. The truth is I was born under a conflicting sign. I'm on the cusp of Capricorn and Sagittarius."

"Which means?"

"I'm a sensitive asshole. Whatcha gonna do?"

It was a great line, and I really wanted to smile, but I didn't want to encourage Kurosaki-kun, so I squashed the smile.

"Do you follow NASCAR?" he asked.

"No." I hiked my bag higher on my shoulder and headed for the concrete walk.

Kurosaki-kun ambled after me. "Do you know who I am?"

"Yes."

"Do want an autograph?"

"No!"

He caught up with me and walked beside me, hands in his pockets. "Now what?"

"I want a newspaper. I want to see what they said about the guy who was murdered."

Kurosaki-kun cut his eyes to the dock master's office. "I can tell you more than the paper. The victim was a forty-five-year-old security guard named Victor Sanchez. He was a nice guy with a wife and two kids. I knew him. They found his body when he didn't check in as scheduled. Someone slashed his throat just outside the dock master's building, and then the struggle got dragged inside. The office wasn't totally trashed, but logbooks and computers were wrecked. I guess the guard didn't go down easy."

"Anything stolen?"

"Not at first look, but they're still going through everything." He grinned. "I got that information from the cops. Cops love NASCAR drivers. I'm a celebrity."

Not too full of himself, eh?

Kurosaki-kun ignored my eye roll. "Do you want to know what I think? I think the guard saw something he wasn't supposed to see. Like maybe someone was smuggling in drugs. All right, I didn't think of that all by myself. That's what the cops told me."

I'd reached the path at the water's edge. The marina stretched on either side of me. There were several high-rises in the distance. They were across from Fisher Island, looking over the harbor entrance. I turned and walked towards the high-rises. Kurosaki-kun then walked with me.

"Are there really boats bringing drugs in here?" I asked him.

Kurosaki-kun shrugged. "Anything could come in here. Drugs, illegal aliens, art, Cuban cigars."

"I thought the Coast Guard intercepted that stuff."

"It's a big ocean."

"Okay, so tell me about my brother."

"I met him a couple months ago. I was in Miami for the last race of the season. When the race was over I hung around for a while, and I met Toushirou in Monty's."

"Monty's?"

"It's a bar. We just passed it. It's the place with the thatched roof and the pool. Anyway, we got to talking, and I needed someone to captain the boat for me down to the Grenadines. Toushirou had the week off and volunteered."

"I didn't know Toushirou was a boat captain."

"He'd just gotten his certification. It turns out Toushirou can do lots of things... captain a boat, steal a boat."

"Toushirou wouldn't steal a boat."

"Face it, sugar pie. He _stole _my boat. He called me up. He said he needed to use the boat. I said 'no way'. I told him I needed the boat. And now my boat's gone. Who do you think took it?"

"That's borrowing. And don't call me sugar pie."

The wind had picked up. Palm fronds were clattering above us, and the water was choppy.

"A front's moving in," Kurosaki-kun said. "We're supposed to get rain tonight. Wouldn't have been great fishing anyway." He looked over at me. "What's wrong with sugar pie?"

I gave him a raised eyebrow.

"Hey, I'm from Texas. Cut me some slack," he said. "What am I supposed to call you? I don't know your name. Toushirou only mentioned his brother Hime."

I did a mental teeth-clench thing. "Toushirou doesn't have a brother. I'm Hime."

Kurosaki-kun grinned at me. "You're Hime?" He gave a bark of laughter and ruffled my hair. "I like it. Sort of Princess, but on you it's sexy."

"You're kidding."

"No. I'm getting turned on."

I suspected NASCAR drivers woke up turned on. "My name is Orihime Inoue. My family started calling me Hime when I was a kid, it's a shortcut to my name. And it stuck."

We'd reached one of the high-rises. Thirty-five to forty floors of condos, all with balconies, all with to-die-for-views. All significantly beyond my budget. I tipped my head back and stared up at the building.

"Wow," I said. "Can you imagine living here?"

"I _do _live here. Thirty-second floor. Want to come up and see my view?"

"Maybe some other time. Places to go. Things to do." Small fear of heights. Distrust of NASCAR drivers... especially ones that are turned on.

The first drop of rain plopped down. Big fat drops that soaked my pink skirt and splashed off my shoulders. Damn. No umbrella. No car. Four long blocks between me and Toushirou's apartment.

"Where's your car parked?" Kurosaki-kun wanted to know.

"I don't have a car. I walked here from my brother's apartment."

"He's on Fourth and Meridian, right?"

"Right."

I looked at Kurosaki-kun, and I wondered if he was the one who had trashed the apartment.

* * *

><p>~ Okay... that was pretty looong. Been writing this the whole day. Need to sleep, <strong>now. <strong>Ciao, people!

~ Nayme Shoumetsu, Out


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **See, told you I update fast. Thank you for the reviews everyone! I don't have the time to reply 'cause I'm busy writing feature articles. -_-"

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p><strong>.<strong>

**.**

**.**

Two

**.**

**.**

**.**

_Told in Orihime's POV_

* * *

><p>"I don't like the way you're looking at me," Kurosaki-kun said.<p>

"I was wondering what you're capable of doing."

The grin was back. "Most anything."

From what I knew of him, I thought this was probably true. He'd started driving on the dirt tracks of the Texas panhandle, scratching and clawing his way to the top. He had a reputation for being a fearless driver, but I didn't buy into the fearless thing. Everyone knew fear. It was the reaction that made the difference. Some people endured it as a necessity. And some people became addicted to the rush. I was betting Kurosaki-kun fell into the last category.

The wind picked up, the rain slanted into us, and we ran to the building for cover.

"Are you sure you don't want to visit the _casa de Ichigo?" _Kurosaki-kun asked. "It's not raining in the casa."

"Pass. I need to get back to the apartment."

"Okay," Kurosaki-kun said. "We'll go back to the apartment."

"There's no _we."_

"Wrong. Until I get my boat back _we _are definitely _we. _Not that I don't trust you... but I don't trust you."

I was speechless. I felt my mouth involuntarily drop open and my nose wrinkle.

"Cute," Kurosaki-kun said. "I like the nose wrinkle."

"If you're so convinced my brother stole your boat maybe you should report it to the police."

"I did report it to the police. I flew in yesterday and discovered the boat was missing. I tried calling your worthless brother, but of course he isn't answering. I asked for him at _Flex II _and found out he'd quit. I tried the dock master, but they have no freaking records left. Blood on everything. How inconvenient is that? I called the police this morning and they took my statement. I expect that's as far it'll go."

"Maybe someone else took your boat. Maybe the guy who killed the night guard took your boat."

"Maybe your brother killed the night guard."

"Maybe you'd like a broken nose."

"Just what I'd expect from a woman named Hime," Kurosaki-kun said.

I turned on my heel, crossed the lobby, and exited through the door to the parking lot. I put my head down and slogged through the wind and the rain, walking in the direction of Fourth Street. Just for the hell of it, I pointed Toushirou's car remote in a couple directions, but nothing beeped or flashed lights.

I heard a car engine rumble behind me, and Kurosaki-kun rolled alongside in a silver Porsche Carrera.

The driver's-side window slid down. "Want a ride?" Kurosaki-kun asked.

"I'm wet. I'll ruin your leather upholstery."

"No problem. The leather will wipe dry. Besides, I'm thinking of trading up to a Turbo."

I scurried around to the passenger side and wrenched the door open. "What do you expect to gain by following me around?"

"Sooner or later, your brother's going to get in touch with you. I want to be there."

"I'll call you."

"Yeah, right. That's gonna happen. Anyway, I haven't got anything better to do. I was supposed to be out on my boat this week."

I wanted to get rid of Kurosaki-kun, but I didn't have a plan. Truth is, I didn't have a plan for _anything. _Orihime Inoue Girl Detective was stumped. Just pretend it's a transmission, I thought. You take it apart. You see what's broken. You put it back together. Really go through the apartment. Toushirou was friendly. He didn't have a well-developed sense of secret. Surely, he talked to someone. You have to find that someone. You found the key in the dog poop pile, right? You can find more.

Kurosaki-kun made a U-turn on Meridian and pulled into a spot in front of Toushirou's building.

"Thanks for the ride," I said, and I hit the ground running. Okay, not exactly running, but I was moving right along. I was hoping to get into the apartment and close and lock the door before Kurosaki-kun could elbow his was past me.

I got one foot on the sidewalk, and I was yanked back by my purse strap.

"Wait for me," Kurosaki-kun said.

"Here's the thing," I told him. "You're not invited in."

"Here's the thing about driving NASCAR," Kurosaki-kun said. "You learn not to wait for an invitation."

When I reached the front door I tried opening it without the key. If the door had opened, I would have sent Kurosaki-kun in first. The door didn't open, so I unlocked it and stepped inside.

"Someone broke into this apartment," I told Kurosaki-kun. "You can see where they pried the door open, It was unlocked when I got here this afternoon. I don't suppose it was you?"

Kurosaki-kun looked at the doorjamb. "I was here around four o'clock yesterday and again this morning. I rang the bell, but I didn't try the door. I was so pissed off I could barely see. No, it wasn't me." He followed me up the stairs and gave a low whistle at the mess. "Toushirou's not much of a housekeeper."

"Do you think I should call the police?"

"If something's been stolen and you need a report to put in an insurance claim, yes. Otherwise, I can't see where it does much good. I don't see the boat police out searching for my Hatteras."

"I can't tell if anything's been stolen. This is the first time I've visited. The television and DVD player are still here."

Kurosaki-kun strolled into the bedroom and gave another whistle. "That's a _lot _of condoms," he said. "That's a NASCAR amount of condoms."

"How about giving the NASCAR thing a rest," I said.

He returned to the living room. "Why don't you like NASCAR? NASCAR'S fun."

"NASCAR'S boring. A bunch of idiots, nothing personal, driving around in circles."

"What's _your _idea of fun?"

"Shopping for shoes. Having dinner in a nice restaurant. Any movie with Johnny Depp in it."

"Honey, that's all girl stuff. And Depp's done some pretty weird shit."

I was going piece by piece, picking through the clutter on the floor. I was torn between wanting to put things away and restore order, and feeling like I needed to keep the integrity of a crime scene. I decided to go with restoring order because I didn't want to believe something terrible had happened.

"Maybe you shouldn't be touching this stuff," Kurosaki-kun said. "Maybe there's something bad going on."

"I'm doing denial," I told him. "Try to be supportive. Help me look."

"What are we looking for?"

"I don't know. A place to start. An address book. A name scribbled on a piece of paper. Matchbooks he picked up in bars."

"I don't need matchbooks. I know the bars Toushirou liked. We went out drinking together."

"Do you know any of his friends?"

"It looked to me like Toushirou was friends with everyone."

An hour later, I had everything put away. Couch cushions were back in place. Books were neatly shelved. Knives, forks, assorted junks, and condoms were returned to drawers.

"What have we got here?" I said to Kurosaki-kun. "Did you find anything?"

"A black lace G-string under his bed. Your brother is an animal. What have you got?"

"Nothing. But he made that phone call to me and he cleaned out his refrigerator. The only thing left is a can of Budweiser."

"Hime, that doesn't mean he cleaned his refrigerator. It means he had to go shopping for more Bud."

"These days most men call me Orihime or Inoue."

"I'm not most mean," Kurosaki-kun said. "I like Hime. Tell me about the phone call."

"Toushirou said he had to leave Miami for a while. I could hardly hear him over a boat engine. He said if some guys showed up looking for him, I shouldn't talk to them. And, he said I should tell you to kiss his exhaust pipe. I heard a woman scream and the line went dead."

"Wow," Kurosaki-kun said.

It was six-thirty, and it was getting dark. It was still raining, I didn't have a car, and all that was standing between me and starvation was a single can of Bud. What's worse, I suspected if I opened it I'd have to share it with Kurosaki-kun.

"Well, do you have any ideas?" I asked Kurosaki-kun.

"Lots of them."

"About how to find my brother?"

"No. I don't have any of _those _ideas. My ideas run more to food and sex."

"You're on your own with the sex. I wouldn't mind hearing your ideas about food."

Kurosaki-kun took his car keys out of his pants pocket. "For starters, I think we should get some."

I did a raised eyebrow.

"Some _food," _Kurosaki-kun said.

We went to a diner on Collins Avenue. Kurosaki-kun had beer and I had burgers, French fries and onion rings and chocolate cake for dessert. There were healthier food on the menu but we weren't having any of it.

"The all-American meal," Kurosaki-kun said.

"Did you ever eat here with Toushirou? Do you think anyone knows him here?"

"Pick out the prettiest waitress and I bet she knows Toushirou."

I had a photo with me. A picture of Toushirou smiling, standing beside a big fish on a big hook.

The waitress dropped our check on the table and I showed her the photo.

"Do you know him?" I asked.

"Sure. Everyone knows him. That's Inoue Toushirou."

"He was supposed to meet us here," I said. "Did we get the time wrong and miss him?"

"No. I haven't seen him in days. I haven't seen him hanging out at the clubs, either."

We left the diner under clear skies. The rain had stopped and the city was steaming itself dry.

"You're getting better at lying," Kurosaki-kun said, when we were belted into the Porsche. "In fact, you were frighteningly convincing."

He turned the key in the ignition and the car growled to life. When you grow up in a garage you learn to appreciate machinery, and I got a rush every time Kurosaki-kun revved the Porsche. As vocal as I was about hating NASCAR, I've been to a couple races. Last year I was at Richmond. And the year before that I was at Martinsville. I wouldn't want to admit to anyone what happened to me when all those guys started their engines at the beginning of the race, but it was as good as any man had ever made me feel in bed. Of course, maybe I was just sleeping with the wrong men.

"Now what?" Kurosaki-kun wanted to know. "Do you want to flash that photo some more tonight?"

It had been a long, exhausting day with a whole bunch of terrifying moments, starting with the takeoff from BWI. Nothing had turned out as I'd hoped. My sneakers were wet, my skirt was wrinkled, and I needed a breath mint. I wanted to think that the day couldn't get any worse, but I knew worse was possible.

"Sure," I said. "Let's keep going."

We were on Collins, heading south. The art deco buildings were lit for the night and neon was blazing everywhere. There were surprisingly few people on the street.

"Where's the nightlife?" I asked. "I expected to see more people out."

"The nightlife doesn't start until midnight."

Midnight! I'd be comatose by midnight. I couldn't remember the last time I stayed up that late. It might have been New Year's Eve three years ago. I was dating a guy named Hachiro Hajime. I was a lot younger then. I pulled the visor down to take a look at my hair in the mirror and shrieked when I saw myself.

Kurosaki-kun swerved to the right, jumped the curb, and skidded to a stop.

"Ulk," I said, flung against the shoulder harness.

"What the hell was that?" Kurosaki-kun asked.

"What?"

"That shriek!"

"It was my hair. It scared me."

"You're a nut! You almost made me crash the car! I thought there was a body in the road."

"I've seen you drive. You crash cars all the time. You're not going to pin this on me. Why didn't you tell me my hair was a wreck?"

Kurosaki-kun eased off the curb and cut his eyes to me. "I was worried it was _supposed _to look like that."

"I need a shower. I need to change my clothes. I need a nap."

"Where are you staying?"

"At my brother's apartment," I told him.

"You're kidding."

"I've thought it through, and it's perfectly safe. It's already been searched. What are the chances of the bad guys returning? Low, right? It's probably the safest apartment in South Beach." I almost had myself convinced.

"Do you have club clothes with you?"

"No."

"I can probably come up with something."

Kurosaki-kun eased the Porsche to a stop in front of Toushirou's building. "I'll be back at eleven," he said.

**. . .**

**. . .**

**. . . **

* * *

><p>The last thought in my head was of Kurosaki-kun scrounging a dress for me. He probably had a bunch of them under his bed, rolling around like dust bunnies. It was still in the front of my mind when I woke up. It didn't stay there for long.<p>

I opened my eyes and stared up at a very scary guy. He was at the side of the bed, snarling down at me. Hard to tell his age. Late twenties to mid-thirties. He was maybe six foot four, and his muscles were grotesquely overdeveloped, making him look more science fiction creature than human being. He had a thick neck and a Marine buzz cut. A ragged white scar ran from his hairline, through his right eyebrow, down his cheek, and through his mouth, ending in the middle of his chin. Whatever had slashed through his face had taken out his eye, because his right eye was fake. It was a big shiny glass orb, larger than seeing eye, inexplicably terrifying. His mouth was stitched together in such a way that the upper lip was always held in a snarl.

I stared at him in stupefied horror for a heart-stopping second, and then I started screaming.

He grabbed me by my shirtfront. picked me up off the bed like I was a rag doll, and gave me a shake.

"Stop," he said. "Shut up or I'll hit you." He looked at me dangling at arm's length. "Maybe I'll hit you anyway. Just for fun."

I was so freaked out my mouth felt frozen. "Wha do wha whan?" I asked.

He gave me another shake. "What?"

"What do you want?"

"I know who you are. I know lots of stuff and I want your brother. He has something that belongs to my boss. And my boss wants it back. Since we can't find your brother, we're going to take you instead. See if we can't swap you out. And if your brother won't deal, that's okay too, because then _I _get you."

"What does Toushirou have that belongs to your boss? What's this about?"

"Toushirou has a woman. And it's about fear and what it can do for you. And about being smart. My boss is real smart. And someday he's going to be real powerful. More powerful that he is now."

"Who's your boss?"

"You'll find out soon enough. And you should cooperate or you'll end up like that night watchman. He didn't want to tell us nothing, and then he tried to stop us from going into the dock master's office to get the occupancy list. What a dope."

"So you killed him?"

"You ask too many questions. I'm gonna put you down now, and you're gonna walk out with me, and you're not gonna give me any trouble, right?"

"Right," I said. And then I kicked him as hard as I could in the nuts.

He just stood there without breathing for a couple beats, so I kicked him again.

The second kick was the home run because the big guy's glass eye almost fell out of his head. He released his grip on my shirt and went to his knees. He grabbed his crotch, threw up, and then went face-down into the mess he'd just made.

I fell back on my butt and scrambled away crab style. I got to my feet and bolted, out of the bedroom, through the living room, down the stairs. I was on the sidewalk, ready to start running and not stop until I reached Baltimore, when Kurosaki-kun pulled to the curb in the Porsche.

"B-b-big guy," I said. "B-b-big guy in Toushirou's apartment."

Kurosaki-kun felt under his seat, brought out a gun, and got out of the car.

This did nothing to make me feel safe. If anything, it added to the panic.

"Don't worry about the gun," Kurosaki-kun said. "I'm from Texas. We give guns as baptism presents. I knew how to shoot before I could read."

"I don't like g-g-guns."

"Yeah, but sometimes you need time. Lots of people need to shoot varmints in Texas."

"Like coyotes?"

"That would be in the country. In my neighborhood it was mostly pissed-off husbands shooting guys in their naked ass as they jumped out bedroom windows." Kurosaki-kun looked to the open door and then up to the windows. "Tell me about this big guy."

"He was big. Real big. Like he didn't even fit in his skin. Like the Hulk, except he wasn't green. And he didn't have a neck. And he had a scar running down the side of his face into his mouth where he was all drooly and snarly. And his eye... his eye. Actually he didn't have an eye. Only one. The other one was fake, but it was a cheap fake. Like it was sort of too big for the _real eye._ And it didn't move. No matter what the real eye did, the one big cheap fake eye just stared out at me. Didn't blink, or anything. It was... frightening."

"Did he have a name?"

"I'm calling him Puke Face."

"Did Puke Face say anything interesting? Like why he was in Toushirou's bedroom?"

"He said Toushirou had a woman who belonged to his boss, so he was going to trade me. And that his boss was smart, and that this was all about fear and what it can do for you."

A blind was slightly pulled aside at one of Toushirou's windows. Kurosaki-kun aimed his gun at the window. The blind dropped back into place, and a moment later we heard a crash from the other side of the apartment building. "Unh," someone said. And then there was the sound of receding footsteps. _Ka thud, ka thud, ka thud. _

"Sounds to me like he just jumped out Toushirou's window," Kurosaki-kun said. "And he's limping."

"I kicked him in the nuts."

"Yeah, that might make him limp. Do you still want to do the club scene?"

I nodded. "I have to find my brother."

Kurosaki-kun beeped the Porsche locked, and he tossed a shimmery scrap of material at me. "I hope this fits. It was the best I could do on short notice."

"It's still warm."

"Yeah, you probably don't want to know all the details."

I held the dress up by its little string straps. "There's not much here."

"Trust me, you don't want a lot of dress. This is Miami. They really mean it when they say _less is more._"

I followed Kurosaki-kun back into the apartment, and we cautiously looked around.

"I'm a little flustered," I said.

"Perfectly understandable. If you need help getting into the dress..."

Yeah, right. Not that flustered.

"This is disgusting," Kurosaki-kun said, upper lip curled at the mess on the rug.

"He threw up after I kicked him the second time."

Kurosaki-kun instinctively put his hands to his package. "I could throw up just thinking about it."

I dragged myself and the dress into the bathroom. I did some deep breathing and got myself calmed down enough to keep going. Kurosaki-kun was out there with his gun, and I was safe in here, I told myself. Just get changed and get out.

I stripped my clothes off and exchanged my bikini undies for a _thong. _I dropped the dress over my head and tugged it down. It was silver metallic with some spandex. It had a V-neck that plunged halfway to my doodah, and the skirt fell two inches below my butt. I swiped some mascara on my lashes, sprayed my hair into a style that looked like maybe my brain had exploded, and I tarted up my mouth. I'd brought two pairs of shoes with me... the sneakers and a pair of silver strappy sandals with four-inch stiletto heels. Shoes for every occasion. I slid my feet into the sandals and swung out of the bathroom.

"Holy cow," Kurosaki-kun said.

"Too short?"

"Now _I'm _flustered."

Kurosaki-kun had his hair gelled back. He was wearing black linen slacks, a short-sleeve black silk shirt patterned with fluorescent purple palm trees, and loafers without socks. He had a Cartier watch on his wrist, and he smelled nice.

"Easy to see how Puke Face got in. The door is completely broken," Kurosaki-kun said. "If there's anything of value here, you should hide it or take it with you."

I gave Kurosaki-kun the photo of Toushirou to put in his pocket. "The only thing of value is the television, and it's not that great."

I followed Kurosaki-kun down the stairs and out to the Porsche. Kurosaki-kun drove a block and a half over to Washington and valet parked the car in front of a club.

"We could have walked," I said.

"Boy, you don't know much. You probably think owning a Porsche is about power and bling. Okay, power and bling is part of it, but it's mostly about valet parking. It's about the sucking up and the ogling and the envy. It's about the _arrival_, honey."

He was being funny, but there was some truth to what he said. There were about a hundred people milling around outside the club. These were the people who weren't thin enough, young enough, rich enough, or famous enough to get on the A list. None of them had arrived in a Porsche. And none of them had given the doorman enough money to compensate for their shortcomings.

The doorman smiled when he saw Kurosaki-kun and motioned him forward. I guess being a famous NASCAR guy has its compensations. The smile widened when he saw me attached to Kurosaki-kun. I guess having legs that went from my butt all the way down to the ground had its compensations, too.

We took a moment to adjust to the dark and the lights and pulse from the DJ. The women dancing onstage were all wearing feathers. The feathers were peach and aqua and lavender. Very South Beach avian.

"You do the men," Kurosaki-kun yelled at me over the music, pressing the photo of Toushirou into my hand. "Hit up the bartenders and security guys. I'll do the women. I'll meet you at the exit in a half hour. If you see Pukey, get up on a table where people can see you and start dancing."

If you want to chat with someone in a club you have to yell in their ear or hope they read lips. I found a bunch of guys who knew Toushirou but none who knew where he was. A bartender gave me a Cosmo. I felt a lot more relaxed after I slurped it down. I even started to feel a little brave. I met Kurosaki-kun in a half hour and we left together.

"Did you get anything?" he asked.

"A cosmopolitan."

"Anything else?"

"Nope. That was it."

"I didn't get a lot either. I'll fill you in later."

The valet brought the car around. We got in and drove three blocks to another club. The experience was almost identical, except this time the women performing were dressed like Carmen Miranda. Lots of fruit on their heads, colorful rumba ruffles on their G-strings. I then drank another Cosmo. And I found out nothing.

"Do you suppose it's possible that we're being followed?" I asked Kurosaki-kun. "I keep seeing this same guy. Someone different from Puke Face. He's all in black. Slicked-black hair. He was in the diner. And now he's here in the club. And I think he's watching me."

"Sugar, everyone's watching you."

We hit a third club, and I belted back my third cosmopolitan. I screamed at a couple guys, asking about my brother. And then I started dancing with a couple guys. I had part of a fourth cosmopolitan, and I danced some more. I was liking the music a lot. And I was feeling very unconcerned over Puke Face. In fact, I was feeling pretty darned happy.

I'd stopped worrying about the time, worrying about meeting Kurosaki-kun at the designated exit. Probably a half hour had passed, but for some unexplainable reason the numbers on my watch had gotten blurry. Actually, it occurred to me that I might be just a teensy drunk.

Kurosaki-kun plastered his hand against the small of my back and he guided me off the floor.

"Hey," I said. "I was dancing."

"I noticed."

He maneuvered me out the door and into the warm night air. He gave the parking attendant his ticket and ten dollars.

"So," I said to him. "What's up?"

"I've been watching you dance in this little dress for the last half hour, and you probably want to rephrase that question."

"Are we going to another club?"

"No. We're going home." He looked down at my shoes while we waited for the car to be brought around. "Don't your feet hurt in those shoes?"

"Fortunately, I lost the feeling in my feet an hour ago."

**. . .**

**. . .**

**. . .**

* * *

><p>I woke up in Kurosaki-kun's guest bedroom with the sun pouring in on me. I was still wearing the little dress. I was alone. And I was pretty sure I hadn't done anything romantic before I fell asleep. Kurosaki-kun had refused to drive to back to Toushirou's. He said it wasn't safe. I guess he could be right, but it didn't feel safe here either.<p>

I rolled out of the bed and padded barefoot across the room to the window. I looked down and had a moment of vertigo. The ground was w-a-a-ay down there. Now here's the thing... I don't love _high. _Hurtling around a race track at 120 mph, in a metal enclosure resting on four wheels, feels natural to me. Being shot up thirty-two floors turns everything in my intestines to liquid.

I carefully backed up and made my way out of the room, down a short hall, and into a large living-dining area. An entire wall of the living room and dining room was glass. I could see a balcony beyond the glass. And beyond the balcony was air. And a seagull flying backward.

The kitchen opened off the dining area. Kurosaki-kun was lounging against a kitchen counter with a mug of coffee in his hand.

The kitchen was very white with splashes of cobalt blue. The living room and dining room mirrored with white-and-blue color scheme. Very contemporary. Very expensive looking.

"Why is that seagull flying backwards?" I asked Kurosaki-kun.

"Wind. We've got a front blowing through."

And then I noticed it. The sway of the building.

There was a loud _crash, _and I turned to the window in time to see a seagull bounced off the glass and drop like a rock onto the patio.

"Omigod!" I said.

Kurosaki-kun didn't blink. "Happens all the time. Poor dumb buggers."

"We should do something. Will he be okay? Maybe we should take him to a vet."

Kurosaki-kun walked over and looked out. "He might be okay. Oops. Nope, he's not okay." Kurosaki-kun drew the curtains. "Vulture food."

"You're kidding! How awful."

"It's the chain of life. Perfectly natural."

"I'm not used to being this far off the ground," I said. "I don't really love being up this high." Orihime Inoue, master of the understatement.

Kurosaki-kun sipped some coffee. "It didn't bother you last night. Last night you loved _everything. _You tried to get me to take my clothes off."

"I did not!"

"Okay, I'm busted. You didn't. Actually, I volunteered but you'd already passed out."

I cautiously crept to the kitchen and poured myself a mug of coffee.

"Why are you walking like that?" Kurosaki-kun wanted to know.

"It''s spooky being up here. People weren't meant to live way up here. I feel... insecure."

"If God didn't intend for people to live up here he wouldn't have invented reinforced concrete."

"I'm not much of a drinker. My tongue feels like it's stuck to the top of my mouth."

"You keep talking dirty like that and I'm going to get excited."

"You get excited, and I'm leaving."

"It would help if you weren't wearing that dress." His eyes moved north to my hair. "Although, the hair is enough to make most men go limp. Not me, of course. But _most _men."

I could hear flapping and scuffling sounds coming from the patio. "Is that the seagull?" I asked.

Kurosaki-kun pulled the drape aside and peeked out. "Not exactly." There were some loud angry bird sounds, and Kurosaki-kun jumped back and pulled the drape shut. "Food fight," he said.

There was a breakfast bar separating the kitchen from the dining room. Four stools lined in front of the bar. A photo in a silver frame sat on the far end of the breakfast bar. It was a picture of a boat.

"Is this your boat?" I asked, picking the picture up to see it better.

"It _was _my boat. Prettiest boat ever made. And fast... for a fishing boat."

"Last night I talked to a bunch of guys who knew Toushirou, and the consensus is that my brother made a last-minute decision to take off. Apparently, _Flex II _had just returned from a trip to the Bahamas. Toushirou went clubbing the night he got back, but he was supposed to sail the following morning, so he cut out early. Around _One AM. _And that's the last anyone's seen him."

"When did he call you?"

"Around _Two AM." _

"So he comes back from a trip to the Bahamas," Kurosaki-kun said. "He goes clubbing until _One AM. _He calls me at _Two AM. _And he calls you right after he hangs up with me. He's on a boat. MY BOAT!"

"Maybe he's on your boat."

"It's the only boat missing in the goddamn marina. I checked. He tells you some guys are going to be looking for him. A woman screams. That's the last we hear from him. An hour later, someone kills the night watchman."

I told him about the night watchman conversation I had with Puke Face. "So what does this all mean?" I asked Kurosaki-kun.

"Don't know, darlin'."

"I need to go back to my brother's apartment. I left my duffel bag there. I wasn't thinking clearly."

Kurosaki-kun palmed a set of key off the bar. "I can help with that. NASCAR guy to the rescue. After we get you out of the dress and into some shorts we can get on with the Toushirou search."

I followed him out the door, into a foyer with two elevators. Kurosaki-kun pushed the button and looked at me.

"Are you okay? You just went white."

That's because my heart stopped pumping when I saw the elevators. "I'm fine," I said. "A little hung over."

We stepped into the elevator, Kurosaki-kun hit the lobby button, and the doors closed. I sucked in some air and squished my eyes shut. I didn't whimper or yell out 'we're gonna drop like a rock and die.' So I was sort of proud of myself.

"What's with the closed eyes?" Kurosaki-kun wanted to know.

"I don't like to see the numbers changing."

Kurosaki-kun slid his arm around me and hugged me close to him. "Cute."

* * *

><p>~ Another long chapter for you guys! It's 9:00 pm here at my place and I really need to write some feature articles or else my boss would kill me D:<p>

~ Nayme Shoumetsu, Out


End file.
